


Sherlock

by bbkris10



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, just your typical sherlock/reader fic, or is it??????, ur gonna wanna read this one all the way through ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:06:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbkris10/pseuds/bbkris10
Summary: SIKE





	Sherlock

Honk, tap, tap ,shout, honk, tap, tap, screech, laugh, tap, tap, flapping, tap, murmurs, tap, whoosh, tap,tap, tap, tap. You walk until you can't hear the noises anymore, not caring where you're going. It's your day off, and you want to get as far from London as you can. You walk until all you can hear is the rhythmic tapping of your feet. That and your increasingly loud breathing. You're not used to walking this far. Only then do you stop. You lift your eyes from the crumbling sidewalk and look around, drinking in your surroundings as you wait for your heart rate to slow. No more glass buildings or skyscrapers. You turn around. You can see London in the distance against the fog. "I must have walked more than three miles!" you think, impressed. The last time you attempted an all-day hike, you didn't make it out of the huge city. You sit down to rest, and let your backpack slide off your shoulders and onto the ground beside you. There is a small gas station across the faded gray road and and even smaller beauty parlor next to it. A forlorn looking middle aged man pedals by on a rusted green bicycle. He nods at you and you nod back. You unzip your backpack and take out your laptop and a granola bar. As you wait for your internet to load you devour the granola bar. Gosh, you didn't realize how hungry you were! You stash the wrapper back in your pack and pull up YouTube. You go to your classical music playlist and put it on shuffle. You wrestle your novel "Where the Butterflies Hide" from your pack and open it to the frayed bookmark. Your friend at the office had bought it for you when she found out that you loved mysteries. You hadn't had a chance to read it with your busy schedule, and could never really focus with all the noise and bustle of your apartment in London. You'd decided that you needed the exercise anyway, and what the heck? It was your day off. You picked up where you'd left off last week.

_"The monarch is a strange creature.” the coroner observed cautiously. He kept one eye on the insect, but another on the patron at all times. He didn’t trust the man’s easy smile or glittering jewels. ”Beautiful, but common.” The patron’s weight leaned forward onto the balls of his feet. The specialist hadn’t noticed the shoes before. The silk was dirty and torn where the rest of his attire was shining. Curious. ”Like a good murder.” He muttered absent-mindedly, under his breath. The patron’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile. ”Well, you truly are a coroner,” The patron said, in a frightening tone. He edged closer to the quivering coroner. “But for how much longer, I wonder?” His grin broadened, revealing unnaturally pointed teeth.”_

You lean forward, eyes rushing through the words, dying to know what happens next. A taxi rushes by and stops at the gas station across the street, but it only annoys you a little because you are so immersed.

_“The man raised his arm above his head, hand curling into a fist. His smile turned into a sneer and the old coroner ducked, raising his frail hands over his spotted head-”_

The book is suddenly snatched away from your hands.

"Where the Butterflies hide? Seriously?" a deep voice mocks. You practically scream, and jump back, stumbling up onto your feet. "It's the coroner obviously, he's the endangered butterfly dealer. The rich man's the detective. You were reading this like it was, dare I say, interesting." You switch from scared to offended very quickly and snatch your book back.

"Ever heard of spoilers?" you shout, exasperated, and shove the book back into your backpack. You sling the pack up on your shoulders and glare up at the rude man. You were not at all short, proud at 5'8, but you had to crane your neck to look up at this man. He was wearing a long coat that billowed in the cool wind. His blue scarf and curly dark hair were blowing too, but his pale blue-green eyes were perfectly still, locked on your face. His unabashed confidence made you slightly uncomfortable, but you held his gaze, and arched on eyebrow, still waiting for an answer. The bell of the convenience store's door jingled and broke the silence. The man's entire demeanor changed. His eyes widened slightly and he rearranged his coat, shook your hand and turned to step away, muttering all the while.

"Sorry, yes, of course not, my apologies, I really must be going-"

"Sherlock what on earth are you doing?" a small, practical looking man called sharply from across the road, and looked both ways, pursing his lips, before briskly walking across and grasping his friend's arm? "We've got to-oh, who's this?" he asked, finally noticing you.

"John meet y/n. Y/n John." The tall man said in a bored tone, scanning the landscape over your heads as if it were much more important.

"Um, hi." you say, reaching to shake the man-John's hand. He gave you a forced smile, and turned back to look at the tall man, obviously uncomfortable. "Wait," you say, shocked, "how do you know my name?" The tall man turned his eyes back to you in something like disbelief before dramatically rolling them and saying in a fast flow of words.

"'Y/n' clearly written on the inside cover of your book. Obviously you're protective of your possesions, and since the book's fairly new, you didn't want it lost. Also your youtube username, 'y/n#1'," Your cheeks turn a little pink at that, and you pick up your laptop and snap it shut. "Obviously made several years ago when you were in college...no, high school." He stopped to catch his breath, and John threw his hands in the air.

"It's no use. Every single time. Sherlock, I'll be in the taxi. Hurry up." He clutched his fists at his sides and stormed back across the road and into the idling black taxi that was finishing filling up.

"Well that was...impressive." you admit, a little reluctantly. He opens his mouth, then closes it, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable.

"Um, thanks." he says tonelessly. The taxi horn honks.

"Well, you should probably be going..." you suggest, kicking your the toe of your converse at a crevice in the sidewalk. They were pretty scuffed up, you notice, suddenly self-conscious. You probably should have worn different shoes to go on such a long walk, but these were your favorite.

"Yes, I should." The horn honked again, twice this time. He looked over his shoulder and jutted a hand out to you. You lightly took it, but yelped a little when he gripped your fingers tightly and pulled you toward him. He puts his mouth to your ear and whispers. "Don't look, but there is a man with a gun on the left side of the gas station behind me." Your eyes widen, but you don't dare look. "He was watching you when we pulled up, he won't mess with you so long as I'm talking to you, I think. Smells like weed. Don't look so scared, laugh." You smile, laugh. "Did he move?" The man, John called him Sherlock, asks. You glance over his shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. You see him, a guy with a snapback hiding his face and a handgun by his side. Your breath catches and you quickly look back at Sherlock with wide, scared eyes.

"Don't leave me." You whisper. The taxi drives up and the backseat window rolls down.

"Sherlock ,come on." John says pushing the door open. Sherlock whirls around to face John, still holding your hand behind his back. You clutch it tightly. If he leaves the man could shoot you; there's no where for you to go.

"You know what John, y/n and I are getting on quite well, lemur, and I think we should have her over for tea, hm?" John's eyes widened as soon as Sherlock said "lemur" and he looked at the cabbie then back at Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head no. "I was thinking more chamomile, maybe some left wall, I don't know, what do you think y/n?" John looked over his shoulder casually as Sherlock turned back to you.

"Get in the cab and duck once you're in." he whispered severely, then smiled.

"Chamomile?" "That sounds lovely.' you say, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

"Good." he said, and in one quick movement he turned and pushed you into the cab. He slid in behind you and hit the lock button.

"Floor it!" he urged the driver as you ducked and covered your head.

"What?" the cabbie asked, but was interrupted by the back glass breaking and the sound of a gunshot. "Crap!" he yelled, and pushed the gas all the way down and took off down the road. Two more shots were fired, but neither made contact. "What the bloody 'ell was that about?" the cabbie shouted furiously, glancing from the road up into the rear view mirror.

"Take us to into London, please." Sherlock says nonchalantly. "He won't shoot again, we're safe, London please." The driver cursed under his breath and drove them back in the direction that you had come.

"You're payin' for that back window." Sherlock rolled his eyes and said "Obviously.", before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, hands steepled under his chin. John pulled out his mobile and called someone called Mycroft about the window. You finally sit up. Your hands and arms where they had been covering your head are bloody with scratches and small pieces of glass. You try to brush them off, but that just cuts up your hands. You give up and look at Sherlock. He is unscathed apart from one piece of glass embedded in the side of his face. A thin trickle of blood slides over his accentuated cheekbone. You look at John who is strategically picking small pieces of glass out of the shoulder of his sweater. No one was injured. You sigh with relief and lean back against the seat. John starts carefully removing the fragments of glass from your arm, saying "Don't worry, I'm a doctor."

You nod and suddenly feel very tired. Your head drops onto Sherlock's shoulder, and your eyelids droop closed. He doesn't look up from his frantic typing. When you awake, you are lying on an unfamiliar sofa, and there is a steaming cup of tea sitting on the table in front of you. The scent makes your nose tingle. You smile. Chamomile.

"Good, you're awake. I didn't think there was an end to the snoring." Your smile vanishes.

"Good to see you too." You say, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Your backpack is leaning against the couch next to you. You take a sip of the tea and look across the table at Sherlock. You almost spit out the tea. "That's my laptop!" you shout. You set down the tea, and lunge across the table and snatch your laptop out of his hands. His fingers freeze mid-type, and he looks at you as if you are the one doing something wrong. You turn the screen to face you. "How did you-what?" You mutter. He has hacked into to every one of your social media accounts. "Are you stalking me?!"

"Educating myself, not stalking." "How did you get past the passwords?"

"Your background was a violin, you like classical music, going off of your childish username, you had to have made the password around the same time." You roll your eyes, trying to ignore his cleverness. "MusicLuver," he said "really?" This is the second time he's made you blush.

"What, it's easy to remember?" you say defensively, powering your computer down and shoving it into your back pack. "Did you steal anything else while you were invading my private property?"

"Of course not, the rest was too boring." he said, getting up from the armchair in one swift movement and plopping himself down on the couch next to you. You go back to drinking the tea, ignoring that comment.

"This is surprisingly good...did you make it?" you ask, raising your eyebrows at Sherlock.

He scoffs "No, John did. So why was that man trying to shoot at you?" he asks, once again pressing his hands together under his chin. You set the empty cup back down.

"I have no idea." Sherlock tilted his head to the side.

"Liar."

"No, I really don't." You answer defensively.

"C'mon think, think!" he urged you, grabbing your arms and staring intently into your eyes. "Who would want to kill you?" His touch sent chill bumps up and down your arms.

"I don't know!" you insist, and start to cry. Your emotions are so crazy right now. You're scared by the shooting, tired from the long walk, uncomfortable in an almost-stranger's house, and confused by how much you like having his hands on your arms. John burst in from the front door, groceries in hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks, setting the bags down. "Sherlock, what have you done?!"

"She won't tell me anything about the shooter!"

"Well maybe that's because she doesn't know anything about it!" They argue as you cry harder and harder, until your throat is so raw you can't breathe you get light headed, and Sherlock stops exchanging insults with John when you faint into his lap. "Now look what you've done John, she's dead!"

"She's not dead you blithering idiot, she passed out."

"Oh." Sherlock said, suddenly growing grave. "Leave us."

John nodded solemnly and walked out.

Sherlock leaned down and softly kissed your lips.

"Sorry." he muttered when this brings you out of your stupor.

"Sh-Sherlock?" you whisper.

He whispers something you cannot understand and snaps his long fingers. The cluttered apartment transforms into a field of flowers. Four tiny fairies in multicolored pastel, glittering dresses flutter over to Sherlock and dance around his head while he smiles down at you. They place pink roses in his hair until he has a beautiful flower crown. You smile back. It's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. The fairies the float over to you and wave their wands. Your t shirt, jacket, jeans, and converse transform into a regal spring -green dress with flowing sleeves. The fairies dance and sing in a heart shape around you and Sherlock, sprinkling fairy dust over the both of you to make you sparkle. Sherlock leans in for another kiss, perfectly wrapping his arms around you. You curl your fingers in his hair and one of the petals falls from his flower crown onto your nose. You both giggle, and the fairies laugh high, tinkling laughs when the door suddenly bursts open. It's the shooter. He leans over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, and holds up a finger letting you know that he needs a minute to catch his breath. Sherlock kindly nods, and you both smile at him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

"I ran...all the way...after your freaking cab....to kill her....and you're having a.....freaking tea party?" Sherlock smiles

"Good golly man, that's a long trot! However did you manage it?"

The shooter looks at him disbelievingly and shoots both of you in the head. He turns and runs out the door. You and Sherlock turn into fairies and hold hands with the other four fairies and sing until you all implode into tiny piles of shiny fairy glitter.

John walks in and shakes his head at the piles of glitter on the floor. "I told Sherlock to stay out of the arts and crafts drawer."

**Author's Note:**

> SIKE


End file.
